


my hand in yours, your lips on mine

by whalersandsailors



Category: Dishonored (Video Game)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Takes place during The Knife of Dunwall DLC, no major spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-04-07 22:31:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4280373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whalersandsailors/pseuds/whalersandsailors
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is almost night, and Delilah finds herself in the overgrown gardens of Brigmore Manor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	my hand in yours, your lips on mine

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 31 Days of Fugue Feast, Day 5, Prompt: Ladies Ladies Ladies
> 
> Seriously, these two need more love.

The air smells clean after the rain, and these are Delilah’s favorite moments to slip from her studio, unnoticed, out into the gardens behind the manor. Nightfall is soon, and the garden has already slipped into shadow, the dim glow of a red dusk tinting the sky. Delilah finds peace in the gardens when her sisters have gone inside, and many evenings, she comes here to listen to the wind rustle and the crickets chirp. The garden has a wildness in it, much like her paintings. Perhaps that is what attracts her. Vines crawl up the sides of stone walls and curl at the edge of the gazebo. Roses and azaleas grow from bushes large enough to swallow a man. The fountain is empty of water, instead sprouting hydrangeas, lavender, and foxgloves. The earth always reclaims man’s interference of the natural order, and the witches’ garden is no different. 

Delilah kneels beside a particularly unruly clump of lilacs, brushing out the dead leaves and separating the tangled blooms. She hears a rush of wind behind her without feeling the air stir. Her hands pause. She smiles before resuming her work.

“I was beginning to think you were not coming tonight,” Delilah says.

The voice behind her is muffled. “There was a lot of extra damage today. I couldn’t leave Daud when I planned.”

Frowning, Delilah stands and brushes her palms against her thighs. “He does enjoy keeping his claws in his playthings.”

Delilah regards the whaler before her with concealed interest, her guest still wearing the dust and sweat infused uniform. There also might be traces of blood, but the red color of the overcoat disguises such stains. Her guest removes the atrocious mask that Daud’s men wear, and with her face free from the rubbery confinements, Billie looks more haggard than her voice let on. Delilah saunters to a trail of roses, creeping their way up a decrepit statue. She carefully plucks one of the pink blossoms and twirls it in her fingers. Billie watches.

“And how went your time at Rothwild Slaughterhouse?” Delilah’s tone nearly sounds bored.

Billie shrugs. “Daud decided to detonate the whole building. Most of the men inside died, I assume.”

Delilah hums. “What a brutish man.” 

She slowly moves to Billie, her feet making no sound on the soft grass. She tucks the flower behind Billie’s ear and slides her finger down Billie’s cheek, letting the touch linger. 

“He never did appreciate the more delicate things in life,” Delilah says in a soft voice.

Billie gives the barest of a nod, as if afraid to remove Delilah’s touch. 

“Billie,” Delilah chastises; “You do not need to be so serious with me. I am not the same as he.”

The line of Billie’s shoulders soften as she relaxes, leaning towards the finger still resting on her jaw.

“I’m sorry.” Billie’s voice is a whisper. “It was a trying day.”

Delilah rests her palm against the side of Billie’s neck, studying the other woman’s face with the critical yet admiring eye of a painter. She never tires of the sharp eyes, dark skin, high cheekbones, and full lips. The disappearing light accentuates Billie’s dusky beauty all the more, and Delilah finds herself enchanted as always. 

“Will you stay for a few drinks?” She asks, already knowing the answer but preferring to keep a level of propriety in this fragile courtship of theirs. “Your portrait is still unfinished, and while I can paint from memory, the model’s presence is always welcome.”

A rare smile graces Billie’s face. “You know I will.”

“Good.” Delilah offers her hand.

Billie accepts it, and for a few feet, she lets Delilah lead her toward the manor before she stops Delilah by pulling her back into an embrace. She presses her lips firmly to Delilah’s, nibbling lightly on her bottom lip. Delilah is startled, but in a second, her hands are on Billie’s hair, sliding to her shoulders, catching the rose and making it flutter to the ground. Delilah sighs into the kiss, and Billie takes the moment to run a hand down Delilah’s spine, making her arch slightly. The kiss ends, and Billie nuzzles her nose against Delilah’s, her eyes closed and hidden from Delilah’s amused gaze.

Delilah broke the silence first. “You always surprise me when you take initiative, but I enjoy it.”

Billie opens her eyes and smiles, saying nothing. A few more seconds, and the embrace ends. The two of them link hands and finish their walk through the garden to the manor. 

Delilah smiles to herself. Perhaps they will have time for more than drinking and painting.

The end


End file.
